Exit
by PaperInked
Summary: The night of their anniversary, Mal lay dead on the pavement and Cobb sat on the ledge, broken. And Arthur was right there, picking up the pieces. After all, that was how he'd met Eames.


Disclaimer: I don't own Inception, Christopher Nolan does.

Summary: The night of their anniversary, Mal lay dead on the pavement and Cobb sat on the ledge, broken. And Arthur was right there, picking up the pieces. After all, that was how he'd met Eames.

* * *

Eames is walking back to his room one night when he stumbles across the most handsome young man he has ever seen. Eames thanks his lucky stars, slips on an easy grin, ready to speak, when he notices something.

The stranger's face is coated with tears, and his hands are stained with blood.

Then Eames sees the woman's body lying in the street behind him.

_x_

Cobb is screaming, swearing and crying, and Mal is dead. Dying. Dead. Arthur doesn't know which, but if he doesn't move fast, there's only one outcome.

Arthur should know better than to disturb the scene of a crime, but for Chrissakes, it's Mal, and it's a suicide, not a crime.

He's all over the body before even a single nosy passerby stops to stare, hands flying everywhere, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to keep Mal awake. Alive.

"Arthur." she murmurs, shaking her head at him.

He leans closer, eyes wide. Their surroundings blur into dark shapes and distant noises as he stares at her and whispers, "Why, Mal? Why?"

Her breath ghosts over his skin, and her face twists, an ugly mask of pain and distaste, and something that looks like a snarl crosses her once pretty face. Her grip is tight for someone who just fell – jumped—how many stories was that?

Dom cries out from the window ledge above. Mal, _Mal_. Always Mal, and the owner of the name goes limp in Arthur's arms.

Arthur's crying now, his blood-stained fingers reaching up to wipe away the salty wetness. Dropping the body, he backs away, shudders running through his body.

A man stands in the alleyway, blocking his path. If there's a crowd around them (there is) Arthur doesn't notice it.

The man opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a new name. A new scream.

"Arthur!" Dom shouts from the window, and Arthur spins around, looking up just in time to see Dom pushed into the windowsill and handcuffed by two armed policemen. "Let him go, he didn't go anything." Dom begs, and Arthur wonders why Dom's talking about himself in third-person.

When the policemen cuff his wrists together, Arthur only thinks, faintly:

_Oh, that's why._

_x_

"Arthur, Arthur. Mal." The man in up in the hotel room says in a whisper that carries through the still air and slices through the silence of the night like a blade.

Eames pulls his hands out of his pocket, taking an unconscious step towards the policemen, then stops. He looks up and meets the man's eyes, and regardless of what had gone on between him and his wife, Eames can see genuine concern in his eyes for this boy, Arthur.

'_I'll look after him.'_ Eames mouths, on impulse.

Whether the man sees, Eames doesn't know—doesn't think so. And then he's pulled away from the window, and Eames is left staring at an empty frame, with the promise on his lips and slowly dying away crowd.

And Arthur.

_x_

Against Eames' better judgment, he follows the ambulance to the hospital after the police are done questioning Arthur, and he skulks around the lobby, waiting to see the young man again.

It's almost two a.m. when the elevator doors ping open, and Arthur steps out, followed closely by two policemen. Eames crosses the sparkling tiled floor and nods at the policemen with a confidence that took years of practice and fine-tuning to build.

"Is he free to go?" Eames asks, taking Arthur's arm gently, while making eye contact with one of the policemen.

"Is he with you?" the man asks.

"We were going out for dinner, but he never showed, and I—" Eames trails off, and has the nerve to look embarrassed.

"I don't—" Arthur looks confused, but he's been a mess most the night, and Eames takes control of the situation easily.

"Thanks for your help. I'll get him back safely."

The policemen nod at him, and they head out the front doors to their police car. Eames looks at his new charge, who blinks at him uncertainly, wary. There's an edge in his gaze that tells Eames even in the state he is now, he can and will take Eames down if he needs to.

He won't need to.

"Let's get you something to eat, kid." Eames says. He wraps his fingers around Arthur's jacket sleeve, and leads him out the door.

_x_

To Eames' chagrin, the only places left open at that hour are dark, shady bars, and all look like Eames is trying to get Arthur drunk. Arthur doesn't speak, so Eames stands in the middle of the street, glancing both ways at the bars, and finally just picks one.

Indoors, Eames orders a drink for the both of them, and some food for Arthur, which Arthur picks at and barely eats. Arthur still doesn't talk, so neither does Eames. They sit in silence, Arthur exercising his food around the plate, and Eames sips at his drink wordlessly, watching.

After thirty minutes of pretending to eat, Arthur pushes his plate away. His glass has been emptied four times, as opposed to Eames' twice, and as he stares at the lights behind the counter, his eyes are glazed over, slick with an emotion Eames can only guess.

"Let's go home." Eames says simply, reaching out a hand for Arthur.

The young man takes it.

_x_

In the darkness of Eames' bedroom, the stranger is asleep. His hair curls across his face, and he is wearing a T-shirt that Eames used to wear when he was younger. Even in sleep, Arthur is wary, and he stirs as Eames reaches a hand towards him.

Eames pulls back, stands up and leaves Arthur to fight the night's demons on his own.

_x_

Eames wakes up to the sound of tap water running. He rolls over on the couch he'd adopted for the night, and sees Arthur standing in his bathroom, putting on his tie. Eames rolls his eyes. Even on a good day Eames can't be bothered with one, and here is this kid, meticulously donning a tie the morning after a night like he had.

"Good morning, darling." Eames drawls.

Arthur freezes. Doesn't turn, at least not three seconds.

"Thank you." Arthur says. His unruffled exterior gets on Eames' nerves. "I left money for dinner on your table." he gestures towards the dining table, and Eames glances over at it before turning his attention back to the young man. It feels like a bad one-night-stand, only without the sex.

"Arthur—" he begins, but the young man cuts him off.

"Thank you for looking after me." he repeats. He disappears into Eames' bedroom, emerges pulling on his blazer, and heads for the door. "I have to leave now."

Arthur meets his eyes momentarily, then pulls the front door open without a word.

"You don't even want to know my name?" Eames asks, hurt.

But the door has clicked shut.

So Eames does the only thing he can. He whispers his own name to the empty apartment, and lets Arthur go.

_x_

Eames watches the trials, the court cases and paper trails that Arthur leaves, and then the day after the last trial, Arthur vanishes off the face of the earth.

Eames reads the papers every day, walks along the streets aimlessly.

Pretends he isn't looking for something (_someone_) he never had.

_x_

Years pass, and Eames is sitting in his usual place in the café when the message comes in. A man named Cobb is looking for a forger.

Eames gets up and leaves, his drink untouched.

_x_

When he steps into the aircraft, Eames recognizes the man immediately. He's pulled himself together since then, and the broken, sobbing mess of that night is locked far away, deep within Cobb's psyche. But Eames' memory of that night is as sharp as he's lived it a thousand times more in his head, and Eames' breath catches in his throat to see the familiar face.

He will ask about Arthur when he gets the chance, slip in some casual joke about men in suits and old acquaintances. Eames has it all planned out.

"Cobb," a voice says, and a hand parts the curtain that separates the front and back sections of the plane. "Weren't we supposed to be looking for a forger?"

And Eames is staring. The memory of the stranger from that night is preserved in his mind, overplayed into perfection, but even Eames' fantasy cannot live up to the beauty staring back at him. There is a brief look of surprise and then a quick smile on that face that sends Eames reeling.

"This is our new forger, Arthur." Cobb tells the young man.

"Hello, Mr. Eames." Arthur says.

_x_

_end_

* * *

Thanks for reading!


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